Two men have formally admitted some form of involvement in the attempted robbery that led to the death of John Rushton, a man murdered in the Pizza Inn in Wilson, NC, over twenty years ago. One of those two men, Ronald Bullock, pled guilty to Attempted Armed Robbery and Aiding and Abetting Voluntary Manslaughter, acknowledging he was present at the Pizza Inn that night, although there were inconsistencies between his statement, testimony and later statement – not to mention contradictions of the other key witness . He is a free man today.
The other man, Jesse Hill, never told the jury he was involved at all, quite the opposite. He testified that Ronald Bullock and Terry Robinson stopped by his home earlier that day and then drove him to his grandmama’s house. He then went on to describe the accused, Terry Robinson, coming back to his home later, telling him, “I can’t – don’t say nothing about it, ‘cause there is a body involved.” Hill then testified he didn’t believe any of that, and he merely wanted to go back to sleep.
When Jesse Hill was questioned during Terry Robinson’s trial about his reaction to hearing someone had been shot, he expressed disbelief. “So, I was just like, well, you shot him. I went on to bed. It wasn’t nothing to me.”
Jesse Hill was questioned about a reward as well.
Q. Now, when you talked to Detective Bass, did you ask him about any reward that you might get?
A. No.
Q. Have you ever asked anybody about any reward you might get?
A. No.
Q. Have you ever applied for any reward?
A. No.
Q. For giving this information?
A. No.
After the trial was over, Jesse Hill told an investigator that he was given a check for $5,000 by a detective as a reward for his role in the case.
Also after the trial, in contrast to Hill’s testimony portraying himself as unaware of anything and going to visit his grandmama, Ronald Bullock made a statement claiming Jesse Hill was actually involved in the planning of the Pizza Inn robbery. Bullock claimed Hill was supposed to get a cut from the money.
After confronted with that information a few days after Bullock made that statement, Hill admitted to supplying Bullock with a disguise for the robbery.
All of this took place after the trial and unbeknownst to the jury.
Throughout his trial testimony, Jesse Hill portrayed himself as having no involvement or knowledge of the planned robbery.
Q. Okay. And then when they said what they said they were going to do, you didn’t believe them, did you?
A. Not really.
Q. You didn’t believe they were gonna (sic) do it?
A. No.
Jesse Hill went on to, again, testify regarding his disbelief after the fact about what happened.
Q. And you still didn’t believe that they had done it, did you?
A. Not – I was asleep, really, so —
Q. You woke up and they talked to you, didn’t they, Mr. Hill?
A. Yeah, they talked to me, but I still didn’t really believe it. ‘Cause a lot of people can tell you anything, and you don’t have to believe everything you hear.
The jury must have believed Jesse Hill, even though he later told an investigator he knew of the planned robbery and had supplied a disguise for Ronald Bullock. More than that, if Ronald Bullock’s statement is to be believed – Jesse Hill actually rode with him prior to the robbery and even went behind the Pizza Inn that day as they planned the crime.
Mr. Hill repeatedly voiced his disbelief in all that was going to take place before and after the attempted robbery and murder.
Q. Okay. Correct me if I’m wrong, but when they told you about it earlier in the day, you said: “I don’t believe they were gonna (sic) do it.”; “I didn’t believe them.”
A. No.
Q. After they came back, whatever time of day that was, the same day, May 16th, you still didn’t believe them, right?
A. No.
Mr. Hill repeatedly maintained no knowledge of the crime under oath.
Q. But, when he said that, you still didn’t believe he had had anything to do with the Pizza Inn robbery and murder, did you?
A. Naw, ‘cause I ain’t heard nothing about no Pizza Inn robbery at that time.
The testimony of Ronald Bullock and Jesse Hill was the basis of Terry Robinson’s murder conviction and death sentence. Robinson has been on death row for twenty years, and during that time he has steadfastly maintained his innocence. Of the three men – he is the only one who has always said he had no involvement. There was no physical evidence to tie Terry Robinson to the scene, and Jesse Hill and Ronald Bullock were the foundation of the prosecution’s case. Robinson’s death sentence was based on Bullock’s and Hill’s credibility – yet deception has been documented. There were also inconsistencies and contradictions in their earlier statements to police.
If anyone saw Terry Robinson or anyone who accused him of murder that day, please contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net.
Mr. Robinson is also a writer, which is how he become involved with WITS. You can read his work here, and he can be contacted at:
Terry Robinson #0349019 Central Prison 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
Sharing the name of the apartment complex around it, at perhaps a quarter mile long, Coleridge Road rammed straight through the projects. It was the crossbar between two semi-parallel streets that offered alternate routes to similar destinations, though their side roads led to completely different ends. The front one was the busy mainstream people took when speeding to Asheboro’s white or blue collar districts. People motoring on it clearly had somewhere to be, somewhere to go, something to do. It was also a geographical cordon and dangerous to cross – nobody wanted to slow or stop. That intersection saw a lot of accidents. One car attempting to cross it from Coleridge got chopped in half by an SUV.
The rear street was lazier, more meandering and accommodating, but presented dangers of its own. It veined into Asheboro’s darker areas where gunshots and crack pipes left blooming but distinctive scents in the air. Like many of its occupants, even the projects back there went only by a nickname, ‘Low Rent’, which spoke to a key feature of their character. Life itself got cheaper the deeper one went.
Like a giant middle finger flipping up from Coleridge Road into the heart of the complex, Kemp Boulevard looped about 100 yards uphill, past my apartment, where two friends and I stood sweating on a corner sidewalk. We shared a cigarette and peered downhill toward one of the other parking lots to pinpoint the tinny music that had pulled us outside to the curb – a rarely seen ice cream truck. From this distance, the kids resembled roaches as they scampered toward the sugar. Heatwaves shimmered above the asphalt, creating what appeared to be a mirage – an oasis or the birth of a metaphor for hope. Or both.
We wondered how many times it’d visit before somebody robbed it. Then we wondered whether we could trick the vendor into handing us one orange sherbet, one rainbow push-pop, and one Mickey Mouse as we pretended to dig in our pockets for money. It was 1993, hot as hell, and we were twelve and broke.
“They’d probably hand it to you… but not us,” J, the shortest but fastest of us said, meaning – ‘You’re not black’. Puff nodded his agreement, and they both grinned. I knew the look. It teased that I looked soft, innocent – untested.
“Oh, hell, nah! I’ve done more stuff than both of ya’ll!” I cited the fights, the stealing, the broken windows and sliced car tires. I was the most prolific.
“Well, you the one ain’t been to training school,” said Puff, the strongest fighter in our age bracket. He hit the dwindling cigarette.
“Only ‘cause I ain’t got caught like y’all.” The yet was implicit. I felt uneasy. We all knew prison was our inevitable destination. It was a fact of life in the projects, the only life we knew how to live. Around Coleridge, people didn’t dream of being doctors or lawyers or firemen… if they dreamed at all.
We all got quiet. I stubbed the cigarette butt. The ice cream truck turned onto Kemp, getting louder as it chugged up the hill and horseshoed around the bend. It became a big, boxy, yellowish riot of glittery stickers and calliopean music as it stopped in front of us. Suddenly we were jostled by a dozen excited children waving crumpled dollar bills or punching a fistful of loose change at the vendor.
My friends and I glanced at each other; they silently boosted me to attempt a free ice cream, but when I looked up, the vendor locked eyes with me and smiled. After a second he scowled and shook his head hard, as if to warn me, ‘Don’t you fuckin’ try it kid’. So I didn’t.
When he finally slammed and locked the serving window and pulled away from the curb, my friends and I gave chase and hopped onto the rear bumper. We clung to the panel-door seams and jumped up and down to bounce the truck, letting the driver know we were there, letting him feel our presence. Being seen and felt is its own sort of ice cream. It wasn’t slowing before turning back onto Coleridge, so rather than be slung off, we hopped off and hit the ground running. We scooped up rocks and thunked them off the truck’s back, laughing as it squealed its tires to gather speed toward the front street.
Though it soon disappeared, we still heard its discomfiting moon music a few moments more, until even that was gone, leaving a sticky residue in our hearts. Ice cream dreams never lasted long in Coleridge.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. George Wilkerson lives on Death Row. He has been writing for some time, and it is a privilege to share his voice. Not only does Mr. Wilkerson share his writing here, he was also a contributor to Crimson Letters, an eye-opening book released in 2020, sharing the voices of those living on North Carolina’s Death Row.
Mr. Wilkerson can be contacted at: George T. Wilkerson #0900281 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
Felicia was a ‘round-the-way girl, someone everyone knew.
She was constantly on the go and always in the mix of making moves that were
typically illegitimate. The younger
sister of a local tough who was known for his street brawling during the 80’s,
Felecia did not command the ruggedness and knack for violence her brother had.
Instead, she was an enigmatic young woman, rather timid and reserved, with
striking natural beauty.
I first met her in September ’97 after my release from
prison, where I was introduced to radical concepts about Blacks and Whites,
many of which I refuted. Still, I was inspired by the talk of Black Empowerment. At that time, I needed to believe in
something, but having spent 31 months wrongfully convicted, I was too bitter
for decent living.
Felicia came through the block, headed toward the school
yard, her steps seasoned with haste. She was on her way to cop some dope. Felicia
was addicted to crack cocaine, still in the early stages from the looks of her.
Clean fingernails. Stylish hair. Yet her name had reached the lips of every
hoodlum with the lowdown as they wove her sordid reputation.
Rejection is a common occurrence ‘round-the-way. Everything from character flaws to unpopular choices may result in one being devalued and mistreated. Felicia was different. She was salvageable and brimming with potential. Why no one seemed to be trying to help her, I couldn’t figure. Surely she had a family somewhere with tear-soaked pillows and calloused knees who prayed for her sobriety. To the dealers and other addicts though, Felicia was a lost cause, good only for her prettiness to squelch their own insecurities and quench their broken desires. Well, not me. I resolved to make a difference in her life. The only problem was, I, too, was broken.
The more prominent I became in the dope game, the more I saw Felicia, zipping here and there while on a mission. Her taught lips in a forever smile were the mark of someone special. Here eyes sparkled with hope. I spoke to her often, expecting to be ignored, though I found that she reciprocated. I challenged her choices and she revealed to me the letdowns that had driven her to dark places. Erroneously, I gave her some crack cocaine because I wanted to help. I vowed never to accept her money. But was I really helping Felicia, or was I quieting my own conscience?
As the weeks and months wore on Felicia, she looked tawdry
and unclean. The sparkling hue in her eyes extinguished by an unrelenting pain.
She held up in abandoned corners too dark for shadows and took refuge in a
glass stem while the johns sought after her day and night, devouring what
dignity she had left.
After my joy of being out of prison ran its course, all that
remained for me was resentment. Consumed
by the feeling of self-worthlessnes, I mirrored how I felt. I woke up angry, dressed in vengefulness and
headed out in the world to detonate. I dismissed Felicia’s sickness and
potential for hope, and I accepted her money for drugs.
One night I was cooped up in my apartment alone, when someone rapped on the door. It was Felicia, glancing over her shoulders with her eyes weary and strained. She jabbed at her ponytail with one finger, scratching away at her scalp as she clutched onto a fistful of bills and said, “Lemme git a dime.”
I took a twenty-dollar piece of crack rock, split it in two and
dropped half in her hand.
I’ve got eight dollars,” she revealed after handing over the
money and eyeballing her purchase.
Expecting the funds to be short, I didn’t bother to fuss. I
put the money away and closed the screen door, but Felicia didn’t leave. She stood there and plopped the crack rock in
her moth, taste-testing the product. “You got something bigger?” she asked.
“What! Man, go on
somewhere, Felicia,” I chided, frustrated with her antics. “I’ve already given you more than what you paid.”
“I know, but that’s my last eight dollars. You can’t gimme
another piece?”
I refused. She persisted. Suddenly, we argued, the tension
growing with every second.
“Just gimme back my money,” she demanded. “If not, I’ll call
the police.”
I should’ve just given her the money and cut ties. What was
only eight dollars to me – was worth so much more to her. Yet, I was insulted and spurred by anger. I hocked saliva and spat in her face. “Bitch!
Git the fuck off my porch before I come out there and beat yo ass!”
Gone was her moment’s sense of defiance, replaced by hurt
and shame. She looked on me until I looked within myself, and all I saw was guilt. Unable to bear the sight of my depravity, I slammed
the door shut while peering out the window as she wiped away the froth and
vanished.
I sat at the kitchen table in the dark of night in the company of self-reproach, wondering how much Felicia suffered at the disdain of heartless men. Men like myself who objectified women and perpetuated machoism, men who willfully victimized the weak and defenseless. A man who would spit in a woman’s face and hide behind the door – though I couldn’t hide from my own disgrace, and I am still ashamed today.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terry Robinson writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’, and this year he has seen the release of Crimson Letters, Voices From Death Row, in which he was a contributor. He continues to work on his memoirs, as well as a book of fiction. Terry Robinson has always maintained his innocence, and hopes to one day prove that and walk free. Mr. Robinson can be contacted at: Terry Robinson #0349019 Central Prison 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
Lie, after lie, after lie was heard by the jury in the trial
of Charles Mamou.
Q. When you talked to Sergeant Herman from Houston Homicide Department, did you tell him basically what you’ve told us here today?
A. Yes.
That was the testimony of Joseph Melancon – and it was a lie, one of a stream of lies. That lie, as most were, was documented in the HPD case file at the time it was said. The jury was not informed it was a lie.
Here is a portion of the testimony Melancon gave describing what took place on September 5, 1998, three months before the murder Charles Mamou was on trial for. The testimony will be followed by what Melancon actually told police. (Volume 22, of the Reporter’s Record at page 66)
Q . Did ya’ll make arrangements then to get together on Saturday? A. Yes. Q. Why were you going to get together on Saturday? A. It was the Prairie View and Texas Southern game, and we was going to go out. Q. Did you then meet up with the defendant, Charles Mamou, on that Saturday evening? A. Yes. Q. And where did – where did you meet him at? A. At my house. Q. What part of town did you live in? A. Southwest side. Q. When he came over to your house, how did he get to your house? Do you know? A. In like a brown Blazer. Q. Brown Blazer? A. Like a Durango, something like that. Q. I didn’t understand that. A. Chevrolet Durango, one of the little small Blazers. Q. And was he by himself or with someone? A. By himself. Q. And did ya’ll end up then going out that evening? A. Yes. Q. About what time, if you know, did you leave? A. 8:30, 9:00, 9:30, something. Maybe 9:30, 10:00. Q. All right. And where were you going to go when you left? A. We was going to Jamaica. It’s a club. Q. And where is that club located? Do you know what street? A. On the south side. I don’t know. I don’t remember. Q. Did you get to the Jamaica Club? A. No, we didn’t. Q. What happened on the way to Jamaica Club that prevented you from getting there? A. Chucky got a phone call on his cell phone. Q. And do you know who he was talking to? A. No, I don’t. Q. You just heard his end of the conversation? A. Yeah. Q. What was he saying in the cell phone? A. He said, You got that for me. Q. I’m sorry. I want you to back up a little bit from the microphone. A. Do you have that for me? Q. What did he say next, if you recall? A. He hung up. Q. All right. Where did you end up going? A. To the little store on Buffalo and West Fuqua. Q. Buffalo, meaning Buffalo Speedway? A. Yes. Q. Now, how many people were in the vehicle you were in? A. Just me and Chucky. Q. When you got to the store at Fuqua and Buffalo Speedway, what kind of store was it, do you know? A. It was like a convenience store. Q. And was there anything close by the convenience store? A. It was a club. It was called Shannon’s. Q. Not the club you were initially going to– A. No. Q. –but a different club. What happened when you arrived at the convenience store? A. They had three guys standing out at the convenience store. Q. Okay. Did y’all park, or what did you do? A. We pulled up. And one of the guys came to the car’s front passenger door, and I got out and they got in. Q. Did you know who that person was? A. Yes, I did. Q. And how did you know who – what did you know that person’s name to be? A. Bruiser. Q. Did you know him by any other name? A. No, I didn’t.
At this point, the defense objected, but the objection was overruled. The witness continued to describe that night:
Q. And what did you say the person you’ve identified as Bruiser did when he came to your side of the vehicle you were in? A. He opened my door. Q. Okay. And did you get out or did you stay in? A. I got out. Q. Where did you go? A. I went and talked to the two guys that was standing up with him. Q. And who were the two guys? A. A guy named Lonnie and Weinerman. Q. What did Bruiser do after you got out of the vehicle? A. Him and Chucky was in the vehicle talking. Q. All right. So did Bruiser get in the vehicle? A. Yes. Q. What did you see the defendant, Charles Mamou, do then, the next thing you saw him do? A. He got out the vehicle and went into the store. Q. Did you see him come out of the store with anything? A. Yes. Q. What did he come out of the store with? A. Two brown bags. Looked like something to drink was in them. Q. All right. What did he do after he came out of the store. Where did he go and what did he do? A. He got in the driver’s seat and drove off. Q. All right. Did he say anything to you before he drove off? A. No. Q. All right. Now the plan had been ya’ll were going to go to Jamaica Club, right? A. Correct. Q. Did the defendant say anything about why you weren’t immediately going to Jamaica Club? Did he say what he was going to do first? A. He said he needed to take care of something. Q. All right. When he drove off, did you expect him to come back? A. Yes. Q. What were you doing then after you saw the defendant and the person you identified as Bruiser drive off in a vehicle driven by the defendant? What were you doing? A. I was talking to Lonnie and another guy named Weinerman. Q. And while you were outside the store talking, did you hear anything unusual? A. Yes. Q. What did you hear? A. Sounded like a gunshot. Q. One or more? A. One. Q. After you heard what sounded like a gunshot, did someone come to the location where you were at? A. Yes. Q. Do you know who this person was? A. No. Q. Without telling me what they said, did they say something? A. Yes. Q . As a result of what they said, what did you do, if anything? A. I got in the car with Lonnie, and we rode over on West Fuqua by the entrance to the Almeda Manor neighborhood, the entrance to that subdivision. Q. What was there at that location? A. It was a lot of people around, and Bruiser was laying on the ground. Q. Now did you get out of the vehicle? A. Yes, I did. Q. Did you go to where Bruiser was? A. Yes, I did. Q. Did you hear anything Bruiser was saying? A. Yes, I did. Q. What was he saying? A. He said, My boys shot me, and he just kept saying it over and over. Q. Repeating that same phrase? You need to say yes or no. A. Yes. Q. After you saw Bruiser laying there, what did you do? A. I walked over about two houses down with another friend of mine from the neighborhood and used his phone. Q. Okay. And who did you call? A. I called my wife. Q. What did you ask her to do, if anything? A. I told her to come get me. Q. And did she? A. Yes, sir. Q. Before you left that scene, did any ambulance or people arrive to tend to Bruiser? A. Yes.
Joseph Melancon then went on to
describe how he was so fearful of Charles Mamou after that night that he fled
Houston and moved to Dallas.
When questioned by the defense, he
is asked to clarify a couple things.
Q. Now, when he comes over on that Saturday, you said he came over at either 8:30 to 900 or 9:30 to 10:00? A. Correct. Q. You don’t recall which. But do you recall at the time he came over your wife was not home? A. That’s correct. Q. Your wife was working until what time that night. A. I think she got off at 9:30 or 10:00. Q. At some point, do you guys leave? A. Right. Q. Does your wife come home? A. No, I had to bring her the car. We only had one car at the time. Q. Okay. So did you take the five-month-old with you over to where your wife was working? A. Right. Q. So you drive the car over, and you leave your child with your wife. And then you and Charles were going to probably go clubbing at that point? A. Right.
The attorney asks him again about what happened when he heard the gunshot.
Q. You went to the scene, how did you get from the convenience store to where Bruiser was? A. I rode with Lonnie. Q. Okay. So Lonnie had his vehicle there? A. Correct. Q. And did Weinerman get in the car with you? A. No.
And then Melancon was asked about when he originally spoke
to police.
Q. When you talked to Sergeant Herman from Houston Homicide Department, did you tell him basically what you’ve told us here today? A. Yes.
After this testimony, the prosecutor brought in the medical examiner to share graphic photos of Anthony Williams’ autopsy, followed by Anthony Williams’ older sister who described how her brother’s death impacted her family – and Mr. Williams’ seven year old son.
That was all done to convince the jury that Charles Mamou had killed Mary Carmouche, but he was not on trial for the murder of Anthony Williams. I challenge anyone to look at that testimony and what police and the D.A. knew at the time and not recognize the lengths that were gone to in an effort to secure a death sentence.
This is what police actually knew at that time.
Officers on duty that night received the call at 10:01 P.M. on September 5, 1998, from dispatch regarding the shooting.
After this incident took place, Joseph Malencon began telling people his childhood acquaintance, Charles Mamou, had murdered Anthony Williams.
Investigators looked into Malencon’s allegations early on and didn’t pursue them. Charles Mamou had been with two women in Louisiana that weekend, which also happened to be the weekend of a family wedding. Mamou didn’t attend the wedding itself, but he did see his family that weekend in addition to staying with the two women in a hotel in Louisiana.
The following is what Malencon originally told police – which doesn’t even closely resemble his testimony:
On the night of this incident he was at his residence. Melancon stated the possible suspect, Chucky Mamou, called him and came and picked him up and they went to the Shannon’s Club on Buffalo Speedway and Fuqua (he testified in detail about them going to a convenience store). Joseph Melancon stated that was around 11:00 PM (an hour after the shooting took place). Joseph Melancon then stated, just after he and Chucky Mamou arrived in the club, Chucky Mamou met Anthony Williams and they started talking. (in his testimony – they were never in a club) Joseph Melancon stated, in a short while Chucky Mamou came and told him he had to do some business, and at that time Chucky Mamou and the victim left the Shannon’s Club (again, in his tesimony, they were never in a club). Joseph Melancon stated he remained at the Shannons’s Club and he was visiting with a man called Weinerman and also a man named Lonnie. Joseph Melancon stated while they were talking someone came up and told Weinerman that the victim had been shot (in his testimony he was outside a convenience story and heard a gunshot). That statement is a completely different story then Melancon’s sworn testimony. The jury never heard this statement, and Mamou never saw it for over twenty years.
Sergeant Novak reopened this case on September 20, 1999, in an effort to help the District Attorney secure a guilty verdict in the case against Charles Mamou for the murder of Mary Carmouche. None of the information they were able to gather supported Melancon’s original statement, and no one could identify Charles Mamou as being involved – outside of various stories they had heard from Joseph Melancon. Sgt. Novak was an experienced detective, not fresh to the Houston Police Department. He saw exactly what I saw when he Iooked at the file.
The few witness accounts that support each other – were those shared by individuals first on the scene. One of those individuals told police he ran into Shannon’s Club to get help and located Weinerman inside, along with Lonnie – the man Joseph Melancon testified drove him to the scene of the shooting after they both heard a shot outside at the convenience store. Lonnie was not outside the convenience store – he was inside Shannon’s Club according to the witness.
One of the central witnesses to this case and a man everyone saw that night was interviewed by police. He stated that Bruiser was hungry and he went to Shannon’s and ordered a hamburger. He stated that he and Bruiser went into the club, and shortly thereafter Joey entered the club. He stated that Joey was dressed up in a crisp white shirt like he was clubbing. He stated that Joey went over to Bruiser and they spoke out of his hearing and that Joey left the club and Bruiser and Lonnie followed. The witness continues and stated – “A short time later Cedric came running in and told him that Bruiser had been shot.” That statement mirrors what the first witness on the scene told police.
The above witness, as well as witnesses on the scene all agree the only words Bruiser said were, “My homeboy did this.” Charles Mamou was not Anthony Williams’ ‘homeboy’. They didn’t know each other, and on the night in question, Mamou was with two women, and his family was celebrating a wedding in Louisiana. Joseph Melancon, on the other hand, was a friend of Bruiser’s. One of the witnesses that night told police, “Joey may have something to do with Bruiser’s death.”
Joe Malbrough, a cousin of Joseph Malencon, told police an even different version of what Joseph Melancon told him, telling police that Joey told him he was standing outside the convenience store when he heard gunshots and he took off running. That version of events contradicts Malencon’s own statement which had him inside the club, someone coming in to tell him about the shooting, and getting in a vehicle and driving to the victim… It also contradicts his original statement which had him outside a convenience store, hearing a gunshot and getting in a vehicle with a friend and driving towards the victim.
There was evidence Charles Mamou was with two women on the night in question – as well as seen in Lousiana that weekend.
What’s clear – a girl was murdered after a drug deal gone wrong in December, 1998, and it was decided Charles Mamou was going to be the one to pay the price. It didn’t matter what police knew.
This series of posts have covered a good part of this case. The picture the prosecution painted of Charles Mamou – “vicious”, “ruthless”, “cold-blooded”, “manipulative”, “liar”, “controlling”. The jury was told, “His comfort zones are guns and bloodshed and murder.” “It’s only a question of when the next victim will be.” “He devastated and destroyed. And that’s all he’s ever done, with his drugs, with his guns.”
The jury heard, “Premeditation to the max,” even though the
drug dealers present that night testified they were actually on that alley to
rob Mamou at gunpoint. The prosecutor at one point saying, “You could
examine every piece of evidence…”
Therein lies the problem. The jury didn’t have access to all that McClellan and HPD knew. Neither did Charles Mamou. I have no idea what Mamou’s court appointed defense attorney was doing, he’s never responded to any requests I’ve made to talk.
Previously shared on this site regarding this case:
-The prosecution repeatedly accused Mamou of sexually assaulting the victim, forcing her to perform oral sex – all the while knowing that a rape kit had been collected. The D.A. requested the rape kit be processed prior to the trial, and it indicated ‘no semen was found’ – but Charles Mamou never knew a rape kit even existed, so could not use this to defend himself.
Nobody has to believe Charles Mamou, who has maintained his innocence from day one. One only needs to look in the case file and see what HPD and the prosecution knew. Unfortunately, knowing what happened doesn’t ‘undo’ what was done. Charles Mamou has lived on Death Row in Texas for over two decades and awaits a date for his execution.
Anyone with information
regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net.
Anything you share with me will be confidential.
All related posts detailing all I have learned
over the last two years are available at Charles Mamou.
TO
CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU:
Charles Mamou #999333
Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351
The prosecution ‘won’ the case against Charles Mamou, but
what did winning look like?
In a nutshell, the District Attorney claimed:
Samuel Johnson drove Charles Mamou to a drug
deal in Houston.
Mamou attempted to murder all three ‘sellers’ at
the scene and fled in their vehicle, which had Mary Carmouche in the backseat,
leaving his driver behind.
Mamou did not go back to the apartments where he
was staying, but drove the victim to a house for sale in a suburban
neighborhood, sexually assaulted and then murdered her.
Mamou, on the other hand, claimed he drove back to the
apartment complex where he was staying and described what he saw there. Throughout the trial, the prosecution ridiculed
those claims. Mamou’s version of events:
Gunfire broke out when the planned robbery of Mamou
began.
Mamou fired a gun in fear for his life, and
jumped in the ‘would-be’ robbers’ car.
He drove back to the apartment complex where he
was staying, following his driver who had left without him, Samuel Johnson.
Mary Carmouche was in the backseat of the car he
fled in.
The last time he saw the victim was in the
apartment complex parking lot.
He recalled the people he saw in the parking lot
when he arrived – Howard Scott, Samuel Johnson, Shawn Eaglin, and a man on a
bike.
He said he went into Howard Scott’s apartment –
and when he went back outside Carmouche was gone.
*Samuel Johnson, the driver, testified Mamou left him and Johnson went home, showered, drank a coke, and went to bed, never talking to anyone and never calling anyone. What Mamou didn’t know for 20 years was that investigators knew, in addition to the witnesses’ at the scene contradicting Johnson, Johnson’s cell phone made a phone call to Howard Scott’s apartment at 2:37 a.m. According to their records, they faxed that information to the D.A.’s office during the trial. Charles Mamou was never informed about Johnson’s phone call, and could not use that information to defend himself, nor was he given an opportunity to pursue identifying where that cell phone call was made from. Howard Scott had a phone in his apartment – but this call was made from a cell phone.
That phone call would have also called into question Johnson’s
credibility.
It also supports Charles Mamou’s account that Samuel Johnson
was not sleeping that night.
In addition to what was known at the time of trial, in 2019 two
witnesses described seeing Samuel Johnson in the parking lot that night, along
with Charles Mamou.
*Howard Scott testified his phone stopped ringing that
night. In reality, his caller I.D.
records indicated he was receiving calls through 3:43 a.m. The Houston Police Department knew this, and according
to their records, faxed that information to the District Attorney. Charles Mamou was never informed and never
given an opportunity to point out how that information called into question Scott’s
credibility.
Howard Scott receiving phone calls from the parties Mamou
claimed to have seen in the parking lot that night also supports Mamou’s
version of events and contradicts the scenario described to the jury of all the
other parties having no involvement.
In addition to what was known at the time of the trial, in 2019 a witness described seeing Howard Scott in the parking lot, along with Charles Mamou.
*Mamou claimed he saw Shawn Eaglin in the parking lot. Eaglin’s name is hand-written throughout the Houston Police Department’s file, there are indications he was questioned, and he was also described as a ‘possible suspect’ in court – but any records of police interviews with him do not exist in the police file.
Twenty years ago, Mamou said he saw Shawn Eaglin take a
Yellow Cab out of the apartment complex. The prosecution attempted to discredit
that, arguing there could be multiple ‘Shawns’ in the complex. According to the cab report – and not pointed
out for the jury – the phone number listed on the cab call report came from
Howard Scott’s apartment.
Also, the Houston Police Department had phone records
indicating Eaglin called Howard Scott’s apartment, that Sunday night. The last
call he made to Scott’s apartment was at 3:12 a.m. That information was not shared with Mamou,
and he did not have an opportunity to use it in support of his version of
events.
Scott’s apartment telephone called for a Yellow Cab for ‘Shawn’
at 3:59 a.m.
*The ‘guy on the bike’ was an opportunity for the
prosecution to ridicule and be dismissive of Mamou’s claims. All the while, the prosecution knew Mamou
didn’t have much to support what he saw, but as it turns out – the Houston
Police Department had some information that could have possibly helped unravel that
mystery. In that fax that they sent to
the District Attorney – there were other phone calls made to Howard Scott’s
apartment that night. One of those phone
numbers had ties to none other than – the ‘guy on the bike’. The phone number belonged to a female, and an
HPD investigator jotted her name down.
It turns out that female knows ‘the guy on the bike’. Although investigators wrote her name down,
there is no record they ever spoke to her.
In 2019, a private investigator spoke to ‘the guy on the
bike’ who remembers being in the parking lot that night ‘after midnight’ and seeing
Charles Mamou, Samuel Johnson and Howard Scott.
As it turns out, everything Charles Mamou says he remembered that night – investigators had reason to believe was true. They shared what they knew with the District Attorney. Nobody shared that information with the jury or the defendant, but rather the focus seemed to be on destroying Mamou’s character and making his claims of seeing people in the parking lot look foolish.
So – what happened to Mary if Charles Mamou drove back to
that parking lot, and that was the last place he saw her? This is twenty years later. Is there any way to get a location on a cell
phone call from twenty years ago? I have
no idea, but one investigator told me no.
The District Attorney took it a step further to convince a jury Mamou was guilty. Accusations of sexual assault were made although there were no charges. The prosecution accused Mamou of sexually assaulting the victim, forcing her to perform oral sex before killing her. The entire time they were making those accusations, they were fully aware a rape kit had been collected, and it indicated no semen was found on any items submitted. There were ‘hairs’ and ‘trace evidence’ collected that could have possibly been tested, but that information was never shared with Charles Mamou.
So where did the prosecution’s story come from? The day Terrence Dodson learned police had a mug shot of him and were looking for him in connection to a murder, he called homicide detectives and told them Charles Mamou confessed to him. Investigators took a statement, knowing parts of that statement couldn’t be true. Regardless – that became the case. Dodson’s later testimony contradicted his original statement, but the jury never heard the original statement.
Race is a part of this I don’t like to bring up – because too many people lessen the message and call it a ‘card’. They will use the very mention of race to discard the entirety of what happened. To reduce what was done here to ‘race’ alone reduces all the other aspects of what took place. This method of sentencing someone to death is much bigger than race, but it is definitely a factor that can’t be ignored – especially in that time and in that location.
It’s likely that had Mamou been white, privileged, wealthy, represented by a private attorney and not in Harris County in 1998 – he wouldn’t be on death row. Had a motivated attorney been given all the above information twenty years ago, not only would Mamou probably not be where he is, the truth of whatever happened that night might have come out. Everything the detectives knew and later shared with the District Attorney – supported what Mamou claimed happened, all the way to the ‘guy on the bike’. A ‘guy on a bike’ isn’t something that could easily be made up and coincidentally be exactly right.
Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net. Anything you share with me will be confidential.
All related posts detailing all I have learned over the last two years are available at Charles Mamou.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
“…to remain tight in a bud was more painful than… to blossom.” – Anais Nin
To many, Kenny’s a nobody – which is why he wanted to shine, to prove them wrong.
Would that I could share my light with Kenny, give him another chance
To fit in, to be normal. Since I can’t, I will share Kenny’s light with you,
Break it into wafers.
Death Row, Death Throws…
We slam, we scream, we fling ourselves against prison’s cosmic ennui.
We remember life from before, our memories another spectrum of light.
The texture of some memories never change; these lights refuse to go
Quietly into that goodnight.
Sometimes a soul’s meat-vehicle remains behind long after the light
Has gone. Kenny remembers the moment his light divorced his body,
Remembers when it tore itself free – remembers it half as action sequence,
Half as background requiem for a dream. His bodily
Memory knit together with eye-witness testimony, here tells
You his story, sings you a history, a chorus of blood sung
With words twinkling in air like asterisks. It was preceded
By a blinding flash of light, an insight that had sounded green, As in the moment is ripe, as in… GO.
We all pass with varying degrees of light.
Blossom…
Perhaps the idea began as a flower – it felt like one
At the time. One of those pretty, yellow-faced ones
With white petals. Aster. Or perhaps it started as a small star-
Like flame, a sad blue torch of forked flower in the brain.
A risky idea one might symbolize in writing: *. An asterisk
Indicated omission ((of common sense?)), redaction, doubtful matters.
Portents…
–aster: a pejorative suffix denoting something that imperfectly mimics
The true thing – a bootlegged or knock-off version, for example.
–aster is also a combining form meaning ‘star’, which implies
Anyone can be a star – anyone can shine like the popular guys
Simply by stamping aster onto their chest, by declaring, “Let me
Be light!” like in Genesis.
“dis” is a prefix meaning asunder, part, away or having a negative Reversing force, as in disability. As in disaster, which is an unfavorable
Aspect of a star, emblazoned red, as in: Kenny, the stars do not fucking
Align. As in: Kenny, this will rip your asunder, break you apart, and
Your ‘you’ will go away… but Kenny refused to see this light.
Men were slamming bone-yellow dominoes into stainless steel 4-way tables,
Hollering multiples of five and clattering their bones into position. Like built-in
Bleachers, three blocky 18-inch deep steps cut into the rim of the day-
Room’s brownish-gray concrete floor, leading down to the lower cells.
Playing follow-the-leader exercises, acrobatic men would balance
On the top-step’s ledge, lean out with upsweeping arms – then leap
To grab the tier’s floor, to do pull-ups or show-off by monkeying
Up, once their bodies stopped wobbling. Kenny used to watch them,
Wishing upon those stars…
In Carnations, A
Cautionary Tale…
Slow, fleshy red haloes spread
And overlap like Venn diagrams laid on cement,
Petaling around Kenny’s blank comatose face
As a silken illustration of the relationship
Between grace and ground.
Soundgarden…
Light is such a fickle thing. Kenny had tried to swing for it with a tottering
Leap. There was a split-second grace period. *****:
In linguistics, asterisks mark an utterance that would be censored
By native speakers of the language. Generally a fall
From grace is blackhole – interesting, especially when it’s a superstar.
We anticipate a comeback… but
With us mundane asters, there is no coming back. There
Is just a discordant ** * ***
*** ** *
** ** burst of asterisks that flap in the air
Like Kenny’s arms, or a flood of cusswords at startled bus stop pigeons.
Then silence.
The very air becomes electric with prayer, or JESUS… the name
Itself a form of intercession. Then a meaty thud
And a terrible revelation
Of Kenny’s horror obscurus, his brain a pinkish-gray
Light leaking from Kenny, after aster in brain, after Kenny-aster
On air, after air on bone, after bone on stone. Thunk, crack,
The genesis of a ravaged lack of all it means to be human. A shadow
Grows from a length of gauze wrapped round and round
A star. That was in ’97.
My dawg, his dog…
Every few minutes Kenny’s dementia seems to chase down his recent
History and tear chunks from its ass. I call Kenny my ninja, since
I’m Asian. His cane we call the Cadillac to convert limpin’ to
Pimpin; his wheelchair the Escalade for which I made a cardboard
Vanity plate that dangles from its back – to infuse his disability
With style, luxury, richness. With privilege, with ease. Nowadays
He chuckles and calls himself stuntman stumbles (in his garbled drawl)
Or Stag Lee, a fitting confusion of Bruce Lee, “staggering,” and Stan
Lee the Marvel creator. Shit’s funny, but shit ain’t funny funny.
Dark Matter…
The brain is a self-contained universe made up mostly of star-shaped
Cells: astrocytes, billions and billions of them, crackle with magic energy.
Hidden in blackness, the brain explodes with asterisks of thought.
It is the seat of language, music, motion… personality. A lump
Of grace that will shine until we die, but… sometimes
Stars flicker and wink out, entire galaxies have power outages,
And the wrinkled surface of the deep becomes void: dementia
Steals the self. It would be simpler if one just vanished
The sun – not this gradual decay into the sightless realm where darkness is
awake upon the dark.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. George Wilkerson lives on Death Row. He has been writing for some time, and it is a privilege to share his voice here. He has incredible insight and actually advised WITS in certain aspects of our organization, for which we are very grateful. Mr. Wilkerson can be contacted at: George T. Wilkerson #0900281 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
In 2012, at the recommendation of a chief psychologist
tasked with addressing the declining mental health and cognitive deficiency on
Death Row, prison administrators implemented a pilot program. The first of its
kind, the project proved to be a success, stanching the oozing misery of
decades of meaningless activities while igniting an air of motivation
throughout Death Row that would not be extinguished by tabletop turnabouts and
legal letdowns. Finally, there was a
glimmer of behavior both rehabilitative and restorative from men eager to not
only divest but defy the stereotypical personas indicative of our status. Further programs were in order, and over the
next few years several classes were offered that would challenge our decision
making while enhancing our social skills by affording us merit in the Death Row
community.
One such class was Drama, a weekly therapy group in which we
convened over play scripts and films while educing our various perspectives.
Though some viewed the course unfavorably in the prison setting, others were
undeterred as we embraced the colloquial demands of Drama, where we first met
Ms. Dee, a psychologist in the prison’s mental health department. Ms. Dee was passionate about helping others
and answered the call for volunteers. She was well-spoken and witty, often
engaging us in prison jargon and disarming our leeriness by showing off her
ability to adapt. It was through her willingness to surround herself with convicted
murderers without reservation, many of us were reminded what it felt like to be
trustworthy again.
Ms. Dee had come from an artistic background, and in college
she minored in Drama, therefore she signed on to teach two programs. The Art class was thought to be an hour long period
of doodling or guys making off with supplies to barter for other desirables.
However, Ms. Dee wasn’t having it – she expected more. She assigned us
projects, lent her assistance and held us to such high standards that we found
ourselves working diligently for her affirmation. Soon we were delving into
visual graphics, dimensions and the terminology of Art. Ms. Dee even invited
her mother, a working class artist, to join us and impart her wisdom on the
subject. What an honorable gesture and show of trust and respect. It made her
more to us than just some quirky prison staffer whose goodness was infectious,
Ms. Dee was like family.
The Drama program, however, didn’t start out as promising
because of the stigma of weakness in the penal system. Many were unwilling to
compromise their image, so instead they shunned the idea. But then there were those who leapt at the
opportunity to add another layer of refinement and reform, and although it
wasn’t the most popular choice, still we were committed to Ms. Dee.
We covered plays like Antigone, the Crucible and Shakespeare’s
Hamlet with elaborate group discussions to follow, sometimes peeling the words
off the very pages and attaching them to our own personal experiences. Then we watched televised renditions of each
play and absorbed the onscreen nuances, while all along Ms. Dee had a vision of
her own to host a Death Row play.
At the mention of performing a play, I thought not only was
this woman bold and overly optimistic but also a bit nutty. Who in their right mind would put their
reputation on the line for a bunch of condemned souls? Who had that amount of confidence
and trust in men so untrustworthy?
Apparently, Ms. Dee did, and as it turned out, her confidence would not
waiver.
We did what’s called a dry read. Then she assigned roles. Afterwards, we began rehearsals. We transitioned
from on-script reading to off-script memorization until our roles became as
much a part of our identity as the red jumpsuits we wore. Ms. Dee also gave us
pointers to hone our acting chops. “Do
not break the plane of the invisible wall,” she’d say, or, “Always… always face
the audience.”
Most days she could be seen seated atop a steel dayroom
table in casual clothes and slides with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and a
steady glare behind her fitted fames as she yelled, “Enunciate! Enunciate!!!” which was quite frustrating
since most of us didn’t know what the word meant. Yet Ms. Dee was relentless, tapping into our
potential and pushing us to the brink as she often stayed late after work and
scheduled rehearsals on her days off.
On the day of the performance, we actors were still experiencing miscues. I begged Ms. Dee to postpone the production.
“But whyyy?” she chimed, her accent flush with reassurance
as she added, “You guys are so ready. You just don’t know how good you all are.
Trust me. You’ll do great.”
And as the crowds rolled in and the seats filled, still she
was unfazed, believing so much in our capabilities that soon we believed in
ourselves.
For forty-five minutes we performed Reginald Rose’s Twelve Angry Men, a play about the woeful indifference and tangled injustice of jury deliberation. Audience members sat transfixed as they soaked in our exchange. Fellow inmates nodded with admiration. And when the play was over and the last actor exited the stage, the room erupted in applause. What a tremendous feeling of validation to have others acknowledge our worth. What a sense of accomplishment to face our fears and prevail. But the ultimate reward was seeing Ms. Dee teary-eyed with pride. She never stopped believing in us.
Unfortunately, Ms. Dee experienced some challenges in the work-place
and was later relieved of her position. Shortly after, all Death Row programs, including
Drama, were discontinued. It seems that
in the great scheme of things, Death Row inmates are undeserving of redemption
and any who should dare to restore in us dignity and value shall meet removal.
Ms. Dee was impacted by a disease that seeks to morally corrupt, a tainted
prison structure that rejects good will and blatantly lends itself to
recidivism. She was inadequately cared for by those who failed to nourish her efforts,
casting votes instead for candidates who offer nothing to effect policies on
prison reform.
Ms. Dee once said, ‘Everybody needs somebody to believe in them’. In believing in us, Ms. Dee did what most never have, making true reform a reality for a short time, and for that, we will forever believe in Ms. Dee.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terry Robinson writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’, and this year he has seen the release of Crimson Letters, Voices From Death Row, in which he was a contributor. He continues to work on his memoirs, as well as a book of fiction. Terry Robinson has always maintained his innocence, and hopes to one day prove that and walk free. Mr. Robinson can be contacted at: Terry Robinson #0349019 Central Prison 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
What happened after the shooting on Lantern Point Drive? Witnesses testified Charles Mamou’s driver left without him. He then jumped in their blue Lexus with Mary Carmouche in the backseat and fled the scene. Mamou has always maintained he followed his driver, Samuel Johnson, back to an apartment complex where he was staying and where the Lexus was found by police with a flat tire. Witnesses have also put Samuel Johnson driving into the parking lot prior to Mamou, although the jury never heard that.
Samuel Johnson supported the D.A.’s version, testifying Mamou drove away from Lantern Point and Johnson simply went home to sleep after the shooting, never speaking to anyone. Contradicting that testimony and unknown to Mamou or the jury, an HPD investigator faxed phone records to the District Attorney’s office indicating Johnson used his cell phone at 2:37 a.m. to call Howard Scott’s apartment – another individual witnessed in the parking lot that night.
Early in the investigation detectives heard the name Shawn
Eaglin and were so interested in his involvement, they placed him in a
photospread. (HPD Incident Report
Supplement 9).
Eaglin’s name surfaced multiple times in witness statements. One witness described investigators going to Eaglin’s home, “Last night while we were at my father-in-law’s house, Shawn Eaglin came to the house. While Shawn was there, we discussed the homicide division coming to my job, my apartment, Ced’s job (Ced is Shawn’s little cousin) and Shawn’s house.”
The witness continued, “At this time, Shawn stated that he
needed to check on a friend of his by the name of Bug. I then asked Shawn why did he have to check
on Bug [Samuel Johnson]? He never answered
why. I asked them who did they know with
a red Intrepid car. Shawn started to answer
me, but then he said, ‘No, I better not.’”
Detective Novak, in his testimony, referred to Shawn Eaglin
as the third individual he was looking at as a ‘potential suspect’.
Q. At a later time
did you look for more than one individual other than Mr. Mamou?
A. Yes.
Q. What is that
person’s name?
A. We – there was an
individual that –
Q. Can you just give
me his name?
A. Terrence Dodson.
Q. Other than
Terrence Dodson and Mr. Mamou, was there a third individual you were looking at
as a potential suspect?
A. Shawn Eaglin.
(Volume 18 of the Reporter’s Record at page 189)
Detective Novak had a thirty year career with HPD at the time. He described Shawn Eaglin as a potential suspect, yet there are no records of any interviews with Eaglin. According to Samuel Johnson’s testimony, Eaglin was responsible for connecting him with Mamou.
Q. Where did you meet
him?
A. I met him at a
friend of mine’s.
Q. And this friend’s
name is what?
A. Shawn Eaglin.
Q. Shawn Eaglin?
A. Right.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 17)
Q. And where was it
that you first met Mr. Mamou?
A. Shawn Eaglin’s
home.
Q. And this is the
same home that you just referred to as off of West Airport?
A. Right.
Howard Scott, the man who’s apartment Charles Mamou stayed in, was transported to HPD for a statement on Tuesday, December 8, 1998. That statement is not in the Incident file so we may never know what Scott told investigators that day, but Scott also mentioned Eaglin in his testimony.
When asked about the first time he met Mamou,
A. Through a mutual
friend.
Q. And that being
who?
A. Shawn Eaglin.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 123)
Q. How long have you
known Bug (Samuel Johnson)?
A. Just a few years
through – like I said, I met him through the same person, Shawn Eaglin.
Q. Shawn Eaglin?
A. Yes, sir.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 126)
Q. From between that
first time and December 6th, how many other times do you meet him or
see him?
A. Just a few other
times. Like I said, at Shawn’s house we
met. You know, that’s it.
Q. So – and this is
before the time that he comes and stays at your house?
A. Yes, sir.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 132)
Q. So, we get through
Friday. Now Saturday, are there people
coming over to your apartment while he’s there?
A. Yes, sir, Shawn
and, you know, just mutual friends that come over from time to time.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 139)
Q. You ever meet a
fellow by the name of Samuel Johnson?
A. No, sir.
Q. That’s a person
they’re referring to as Bug?
A. No, I know Bug.
Q. Did you know Bug
before you met Mr. Mamou?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. How you been
knowing Bug?
A. Through Shawn, the
same person.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 140)
Specifically describing the night of December 6, 1998, and
the apartment complex, Howard Scott testified,
A. We are outside on
the front porch.
Q. You said,
‘we’re’. Who is the group?
A. It was me, Ken,
Shawn and that’s it.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 147)
Q. Any discussion
going on between you and Shawn?
A. No, sir.
Q. Are you making any
comments to any of the people that – your company there – that Chucky and Bug
been gone for a long time?
A. No, sir.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 148)
Scott is specifically asked about his phone.
Q. So are you awoken
by telephone calls even after you go to bed?
A. No, sir, no more
phone calls. After awhile it wasn’t no
more phone calls.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 149)
Q. Is that because
you pulled a plug out of the phone or –
A. No, it just
stopped ringing.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 150)
According to a fax sent to the District Attorney’s office from HPD while the court proceedings were underway, Howard Scott’s phone was ringing that night. That information was not shared with the jury or Charles Mamou.
Howard again refers to Shawn Eaglin being at the apartment
complex that night.
Q. Mr. Scott, you
talked about Shawn Eaglin being there at your house with his kids for a while,
and then he left. When Shawn came back around midnight or a little after, how
long did he stay before he left again?
A. I guess about
thirty to forty minutes.
Q. So, he left again
about 12:00, 12:45 or 1:00 o’clock?
A. Yes, sir.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 152)
Repeatedly, Shawn Eaglin is placed at the apartment complex
that night.
Q. Well, when Shawn
is there, I mean, is it right at midnight?
It is 1:00 o’clock? Do you know
what time it is?
A. I can’t recall the
time.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 153)
Q. So, it could have
been anywhere from about midnight to 2:30 in the morning?
A. Yes, sir, could
have been.
Q. And when you say
he then leaves, do you say good-bye to him at your front door and you close the
door and go back to bed?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. So you don’t
actually see where he goes to at that point?
He’s not inside your apartment?
A. No, sir.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 153)
Court testimony wasn’t all that indicated Shawn Eaglin was at the apartment complex that night. A Yellow Cab employee was called to the stand during the trial and questioned about a call the company received that night. As an exhibit, he brought with him a printout from December 6, 1998.
Q. Let me hand back
to you Defendant’s Exhibit No. 9. With
regard to the call that is reflected at the bottom of that sheet, again, the
location where the call was made to the cab driver that went out to a location,
what location did he go to?
A. He went to 10800
Fondren.
Q. Was there a
particular apartment unit number?
A He was given
Apartment Number 1402. (Howard Scott’s apartment number)
Q. And the name of
the caller?
A. The caller said
his name was Shawn.
(Volume 20 of the Reporter’s Record at page 134)
The prosecutor did his best to discount that testimony and exhibit. He questioned the Yellow Cab employee about
many things.
Q. And there is no
indication by that record that anybody went to Apartment 1402, is there?
A. No.
Q. In fact, they went
to a big box? Isn’t that what there is a
notation at the side and—
A. The directions
say, yes.
(Volume 20 of the Reporter’s Record at page 136)
Q. Okay. So when a person calls in you don’t know if
they’re giving you the apartment number they’re in or they’re just giving you
an apartment number?
A. That is true.
(Volume 20 of the Reporter’s Record at page 136)
Q. I understand you
assume. Now it says a name there, Shawn.
Do you know how many Shawns live over in the 10800 block of Fondren?
A. No, sir.
Q. Do you know who
that Shawn is?
A. No.
(Volume 20 of the Reporter’s Record at page 138)
Charles Mamou has maintained he drove the Lexus from the
drug deal to the apartment complex. He also
said he later saw Shawn Eaglin leave Howard Scott’s apartment and get in a
Yellow Cab vehicle. There is very little
evidence in this case, but the little there is, is consistent with Mamou’s
recollection of events.
The D.A. tried to call into question the reliability of the Yellow Cab report, and even asked about how the phone number was recorded – which turned out to be caller I.D. The prosecutor did notask the witness about the particular number itself or share what was known about the phone number on the report. The jury never knew, nor did Charles Mamou, that the phone number requesting the cab came from inside Howard and Robin Scott’s apartment, which is consistent with exactly what Charles Mamou said he saw twenty years ago.
The jury was also not told Shawn Eaglin lived five minutes
from Howard Scott’s apartment – the exact amount of time the taxi’s meter was
running, from 4:04 a.m. until 4:09 a.m.
Harris County dominated the field when it came to racking up death sentences, and Lyn McClellan was an MVP. The case he built against Mamou was built on one man’s statement – a statement investigators knew didn’t match up to actual events and described a confession in a phone call from Louisiana when Mamou was actually in Houston.
It appears anything that contradicted that statement either
didn’t make it into the file or was removed, and anything investigators or the
D.A. knew that contradicted that statement – was not shared with Mamou or the
jury.
The fax HPD sent to the D.A. didn’t just contain a record of
Samual Johnson’s calls, it also showed phone calls from Shawn Eaglin.
There is not one record of any interview with Shawn Eaglin in the case file. He was at one time considered a suspect. He was present on the night in question. He was described as talking about investigators going to his home in a witness statement. He had his name on a cab report for a cab ordered from inside Scott’s apartment. He was referred to by almost everyone involved as the party that introduced them all. His name, ‘Shawn’, is handwritten several times in the HPD file. And he was calling Howard Scott as late as 3:12 a.m. on a Sunday night – the jury never heard that.
There comes a point when sloppy record keeping turns a corner…
Like any record of an interview with Howard Scott at HPD on Tuesday, December 8, 1998, there are no records of any interviews with Shawn Eaglin.
Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net. Anything you share with me will be confidential.
All related posts detailing all I have learned over the last two years are available at Charles Mamou.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
Charles Mamou, among 48 Texas inmates sent to the state’s Death Row in 1999, has always maintained his innocence. At first glance, forty-eight sounds like an impossible number, but a closer look brings into question the integrity of the system.
Investigators knew the evening of December 6, 1998, began with a drug deal gone bad, and they got the name of Charles Mamou from two men who later testified they planned to rob Mamou that night. That same week, on Wednesday, December 9, during the second interview of a woman named Robin Scott, police learned Samuel Johnson was Charles Mamou’s ‘driver’ for the drug deal gone wrong. According to Scott, her husband told her, ‘Bug (Samuel Johnson) drove off in his car, leaving Chuck behind.’(HPD Archived Incident Report 156416498, Supplement No. 11)
Later that same day homicide detectives picked up Samuel Johnson at his apartment and brought him to the homicide office where a written statement was taken. In his statement, Johnson described the evening as more of a social event, riding around and meeting up with people – not a drug transaction in the making. According to Johnson, and in contrast to the testimony of all surviving witnesses, Mamou drove away without him. He then went home, went to bed, and heard about the incident the next day on the news.
“When I saw this on the news, I couldn’t believe that Chucky would do something like this. I was scaredand I was shocked and this is the reason that I did not tell anyone.” – (HPD Archived Incident Report 156416498, Supplement No. 12)
Samuel Johnson’s shock at the news of what took place and his apparent mistaking a drug deal for a night of innocent socializing are all that is recorded in the police department’s Incident Report regarding his involvement. Much like the other individuals involved that night, it appears Johnson was not charged with anything in relation to the death of Mary Carmouche or the drug transaction, although his memory of what happened that night is in sharp contrast to what several other people recall.
According to the testimony of Dion Holley and Kevin Walter, Samuel Johnson drove away and left Mamou behind on the alley. According to the statement of Robin Scott, she was told ‘Bug drove off in his car, leaving Chuck behind’. According to Charles Mamou, Samuel Johnson pulled off in his car – and he jumped in the Lexus that held Mary Carmouche and fled the alley, returning to the apartment complex where all the involved individuals were located and where the Lexus was ultimately located by police with a flat tire – one of the few pieces of actual physical evidence.
Samuel Johnson also said in his statement to police that he
never again saw Mamou or the Lexus after driving away from the shooting.
Johnson’s statement doesn’t just contradict the recollection
of others, he also contradicts himself in his testimony, describing the
innocent night of socializing differently in the courtroom.
Q. And what did he
tell you he wanted to do?
A. He was going to
buy some dope.
Q. And wanted you to
take him to the location?
A. Right.
Q. And what were you going to get out of the deal?
A. I was going to get
something out of it. I don’t know how
much.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 24)
Q. Tell the members
of the jury exactly what it was that y’all were going to do.
A. Go buy some drugs.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 68)
Q. Did you have some
agreement with Mr. Mamou to engage in some type of illegal conduct?
A. Yes.
Q. You knew full well
when you left to go and, in fact, throughout the day when you’re with him, that
you were going to engage in some type of illegal conduct.
A. Yes.
Q. And you realized
that conduct was a felony, correct?
A. Right.
Samuel Johnson also testified regarding what he would do if
something actually ‘happened’.
Q. And do you keep
your eyes on them the entire time, or are you doing other things?
A. I’m keeping my eye
on them at all times.
Q. Making sure that
nothing happened?
A. Yeah.
Q. What were you going
to do if something happened?
A. Probably would
have left.
Q. So, if something
had happened right there, your response would have been to leave and leave
Charles and Terrence there?
A. Yeah.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 74)
Something did happen.
The deal ended in gunfire with one man dead.
Samuel Johnson also testified regarding his own credibility.
Q. And I just want to
make sure we understand something; because when you talked to the police, you
told them a bunch of lies, didn’t you?
A. Yeah.
Q. And yet, the lies
that you tell them, they’re being told after you’ve been arrested, correct?
A. Right.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 98)
Q. Yet when you
talked to the police, you lied about – or you say now that you lied about the
Lexus’ hood being up?
A. Right.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 100)
Samuel Johnson’s testimony did mirror his original statement
in one aspect. He clearly indicated in
both that he went ‘directly home’. The
shooting on Lantern Point took place at around 12:00 midnight, which would have
him back at his apartment on Fondren at around 12:30 a.m. on December 7.
Q. You go directly
home?
A. Yeah.
Q. You tell your wife
what happened?
A. No, she was asleep
at the time.
Q. Pretty exciting
events in your life, isn’t it?
A. Very exciting.
Q. You just get in
bed and go to sleep?
A. No, I took a shower.
Q. Took a shower, and
then got in bed and went to sleep?
A. No, opened me a
can of soda and went to bed.
Q. Talk to anybody
that night?
A. No.
Q. Talk to Robin or
Howard Scott at any point after that?
A. No.
Two witnesses, in two separate interviews, have described Samuel
Johnson driving into the apartment complex where the Lexus was found, followed
shortly after by the Lexus with Charles Mamou – a little after midnight. Those witnesses appear to support Charles
Mamou, who has always maintained he fled the drug deal shooting and followed
Samuel Johnson back to the apartments.
It’s unclear what, if anything, the Houston Police Department may have pursued. There are references to interviews, which include references to a written statement made by Howard Scott on December 8 among others, but no actual record of vital interviews. After in-person, as well as telephone inquiries with the records department at HPD, I was told by one employee that not all the material gets put into the file. It’s unclear who decides what gets included.
In 2007 a private investigator, Carl Deal, who reviewed the
case files noted, “Further, Samuel Lee Johnson, Jr., who was present during the
shooting, who was the driver for Charles Mamou to the drug deal, provides a
substantially false statement to police regarding the facts of the shooting.”
He goes on to say, “Samuel Johnson was not prosecuted and
later became a witness on behalf of the state.
Statements, recordings of statements, kinesic interviewing assessments
of suspects and witnesses that depict the fine details of the original
transaction and exchange of violence, as well as the disposition of Mary
Carmouche in the two days that followed the shooting remain unresolved and
unannounced.
“In short, standard police protocol requires that when
police receive information, the motive for providing the information must be investigated
as well. And then the truthfulness of
the statements should be assessed through efforts at corroboration. All
statements should be recorded in writing, tape recorded or video-taped – and
police investigators should be making professional judgments in this process
based upon their experience in the signs and symptoms of deception, speaking as
to whether statements are credible.
“A series of witnesses – key among them being Samuel Johnson,
provided statements to police and then undoubtedly later to prosecutorial investigators
or attorneys which are not present in the investigative file.”
Samuel Johnson’s testimony seems to confirm Mr. Deal’s
opinion regarding follow-up interviews.
Q. The only persons you’ve spoken to about this case since December 6th of 1998 have been police officers and prosecutors, correct?
A. Right.
Q.
And how many times have you met with police or prosecutors since
December 6, 1998?
A. Numerous times.
(Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 50)
Moreover, the proceedings for Charles Mamou’s whirlwind capital murder trial began on September 7, 1999. Actual testimony began on October 4, 1999. Unbeknownst to Charles Mamou – or the jury – Officer Bob King at HPD faxed information to Lyn McClellan at the prosecutor’s office on September 24, 1999, after the trial was underway. Included in that fax were the detective’s handwritten notes documenting Samuel Johnson placing a call to Howard Scott’s apartment at 2:37 a.m. on the evening the events took place. The jury and Mamou only heard Johnson clearly testify that he went straight home and to sleep – talking to no one. The prosecutor heard the same thing, but failed to share with the jury or Charles Mamou the fax he received indicating Samuel Johnson wasn’t actually asleep – but dialing his cell phone and trying to contact Howard Scott at 2:37 in the morning. The phone call he made was from his cell phone – not his apartment’s landline. He could have been anywhere. Unfortunately, the jury was never able to hear Johnson be questioned regarding that phone call because Mamou never knew it happened. Legal? Maybe – I’m not an attorney. Moral and ethical – I’d have to say, no.
The prosecution wrapped up its case with a powerful attack on Mamou’s character, including accusing him of an unsolved murder months previous that he was never charged with, nor given an opportunity to defend himself in. That case is unresolved to this day but it was used as a tool to sentence Mamou to death.
According to his testimony, Samuel Johnson worked for Orkin,
treating homes throughout Houston. He
described the area he worked in as the west side, out towards Katy and the
southwest part of town.
I tried to contact Samuel Johnson in preparing this post. He did not respond to my request.
Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net. Anything you share with me will be confidential.
In closing arguments, Lynn McClellan fought for the death penalty, assuring the jury that while determining Mamou’s future threat to society, they could consider things they would, “hear about his character”. – Volume 24 of the Reporter’s Record at page 6
Mr. McClellan worked under District Attorney, Johnny Holmes, whose office was unquestionably skilled at acquiring death sentences, putting over 200 people on death row.
Ms. Connors, also during closing arguments, painted a picture for jurors, “And he takes her to Lynchester. He marches her to the back, and he makes her commit oral sodomy, makes her suck his penis. Imagine that, ladies and gentleman.” – Volume 24 of the Reporter’s Record at page 38
She used multiple adjectives to describe Mamou, arguing, “You know he will be a continuing threat.”
“He’s vicious.”
“He’s ruthless.”
“He’s cold-blooded.”
“He devastated and destroyed.”
The jury was convinced, determining Mamou should be executed, and the media ran with the sexual assault, even though Mamou was never charged with that.
Mamou could not counter the claims. Unfortunately, although it seemed unusual, the Autopsy Report did not include any mention of a rape kit being collected or any other trace evidence. There seemed to be no physical evidence found on the victim to aid in the investigation. Even her clothing was reported to have been in place, including her belt buckle.
Roger Milton was the medical examiner who performed the autopsy and was called to testify at the trial of Charles Mamou. Mr. Milton described the process of recording his findings.
A. Well, at the time of the autopsy, everything that we observe, we document on a chart, written as well as a verbal, dictation into a cassette tape. So, as we observe the appearance of the body externally, we describe it on the tape and continue to describe the entire autopsy. And that tape is later transcribed into a typewritten report form. – Volume 20 of the Reporter’s Record at page 51
Q. Is the information placed on the report made by someone who has personal knowledge of what they’re observing? That would be you, correct?
A. Yes.
Q. You have personal knowledge. You dictate your findings into a cassette recorder?
A. Correct.
Q. And it’s transcribed?
A. Right.
Q. And after you dictate your findings and the report is transcribed, do you review this report?
A. Yes.
Q. And as an assistant medical examiner, do you have care, custody, and control of the records at the medical examiner’s office?
A. Yes. – Volume 20 of the Reporter’s Record at page 51
According to the testimony, the entire autopsy is documented. So, when Mamou saw the Autopsy Report, it was apparent there was nothing found that might help in his defense. The thorough report included six single spaced pages of text describing the process, so detailed it documented where dry skin was located. What was obtained for toxicological analysis was described. A Report of Analysis of blood and urine was included. A seven-page Investigator Report was included which indicated Dr. Carter requested dentals to be done to confirm the victim’s identity. And although Mamou was accused of sexual assault by his cousin during the trial, there was no evidence to support or refute that – because it appeared no rape kit had been collected. There was no mention of it.
Or so Mamou thought until 2019. It was just last year he learned the Harris County D.A. knew one existed in 1999 and requested it be processed not long before the trial, the results to be forwarded to their office.
After a records request last year, it was found in Supplement Number 11 of Incident Report 157191298, that on Thursday, July 8, 1999 – a couple months prior to Mamou’s trial – “On this date, Sergeant Foltz received a phone call from D.A. Investigator Al Rodriguez requesting that Sergeant Foltz create this supplement and forward same to the Houston Police Crime Lab. Rodriguez advised the D.A.’s office is requesting that the rape kit obtained by the Harris County Morgue at the time of the autopsy be processed through our crime lab.”
The rape kit obtained at the time of the autopsy…
For twenty years, Charles Mamou never knew it existed, and less than a year ago he was told it did – and it has been sitting in the HPD Property Room all this time.
What other information did the rape kit contain that was withheld from Mamou for twenty years?
I contacted the Houston Police Department in an attempt to locate the results of the kit. I was told rape kit results were not kept in the Houston Police Department files, and upon further inquiries with the police department, I was ultimately told, “The rape kit results are irrelevant. Mamou was not charged with sexual assault, and he was given all that information during discovery. The opportunity to test anything is gone. That window of opportunity is closed.”
I asked the person who told me that if she considered the matter closed, and she replied, “Yes.”
Not to be deterred, I obtained the report through other avenues. The results the D.A. requested and received twenty years ago included, “Fingernail Scrapings” and “Trace Collection Items”.
Also reported, “No semen was detected on any items analyzed.” While the prosecution used ‘sexual assault’ allegations to their advantage – they had this information and never shared it with the jury or Mamou.
The jury and Mamou were also not told ‘hairs were collected from the t-shirt’ of the victim.
According to the report, included in the evidence is a “Plastic Ziploc (sealed) containing, ‘Trace Collection’ items – Not Analyzed.”
The only basis the prosecution had for sexual assault claims was Terrence Dodson’s statement claiming his cousin sexually assaulted and murdered the victim. As, shared previously, the ‘confession’ Dodson described could not have taken place the way he stated. Yet Dodson’s video statement to police – with all it’s inconsistancies investigators were aware of – seemed to have scripted the prosecution’s entire case.
Charles Mamou is out of appeals and awaiting his execution date.
Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net. Anything you share with me will be confidential.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
